The Orphaned Star
by LadyVioletta24
Summary: After 1000 moons of imprisonment, Loki struggles to find himself and his place in the realms. Someone enters his life, equally as lost as he. Together, would they find purpose? Home? And love? This is my first fanfic - reviews are welcome! I don't own anything but the OC characters.
1. Prologue

The runes know the story.

One night long ago, after Máni's sojourn with the moon and his chariot was spent, a light winked in the haze of midnight. Winked once, then twice, then suddenly blossomed into a silvered plume that arced across the sky. As the light approached the towers of Asgard, a star within it became visible – a star that tripped while on its metered trek. Perhaps a breath from Muspelheim, perhaps a sigh from Niflheim that crossed its path and caused the tremble. The world knows not.

The wayward star faltered, and suddenly skittered over the sea, tumbling itself to a stop in a low valley where the grass grew soft and primrose scented the air. There, the star erupted into blinding light, a wave of warm wind rushing out from the place where it lay. And from the warmth and light, a tiny cry. The warm wind cascaded to the feet of Gna, handmaiden to Queen Frigga; she, the queen's messenger and bearer of breezes, looked up in surprise at this new breath from the valley. It beckoned her forward to where the star now lay, the fierce light dying as the cry grew in strength. Surprise hastened her steps, intrigue drawing her forward. The grasses, softened and curling against the warmth, filled the air with the scent of earth and green – of life. As she approached, Gna paused, gasped.

Amid a fading, crumbling berth that sparkled all shot through with silver, lay a babe. Her infant cries bid the handmaiden forth, and she knelt and tenderly gathered the tiny one to her breast. The babe trembled, then quieted, the celestial glow dimming away like a lamp turned down. In the last of the fading light, Gna beheld the babe was a girl child. Hair, dark as Odin's raven, glistened with a dusting of silver as the babe quieted at the handmaiden's touch. Her tiny fist found the rosebud mouth, and she suckled hungrily. A tender smile bloomed on Gna's face as she cuddled the infant against her, pulling the folds of her robe up to shelter her from the cool breeze.

"Hello, little starling. Welcome!" As she turned towards the path back to Asgard's halls, she pressed a kiss to the downy head. Behind her, the silvered spot that held the babe faded into the darkness, leaving only a newly bloomed primrose, petals silvered and shining in the dim light.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

One thousand moons.

The first many had flown by, fueled by rage and impotent machinations for revenge. The next many dragged, torturous, plodding. At times, he felt his sanity teetered in his grasp as the walls of his cell closed in on him. The lack of noise, of daylight, of any form of normalcy that formed his early life grated against him like thorns. On those days, he screamed just to vent his desperation and give his ears relief from the deafening silence. The next many saw him beaten; exhausted to his very soul. He spoke nor screamed, to himself or to anyone. He ate only when his mother urged him.

Visits were infrequent, as to be expected. The point of prison, after all, is punishment. His mother visited the most often, closely seconded by his brother. His mother brought him books, his favorite fruit, and urged patience. His brother brought him smoked lamb, sketches of the Yggdrasil, and recounted memories of their adventures as children.

The king…he brought him only reminders. _207 moons done. 458 moons done. 815 moons done._ Even now he could hear his voice intoning the verses of his sentence. And if the Allfather's voice carried tinges of regret, grief, even – Loki's coiling anger turned his eyes from it.

His only dream – power – he had nearly held it in his hand. The sweetness of it already moistening his lips. And everything had been taken from him.

Morning began to peek slices of weak light in the gaps of the curtains. Loki turned his burning eyes to trace the slanting beams. His first night in his own bed, in his own room, and he hadn't slept at all.

The Allfather, through ways he would not name, brokered a tenuous agreement with the Norns. The sacred women three were able to remove all Loki's powers. He would only earn them back gradually, if at all, beginning at dawn of the one and one thousandth day. A painful sneer crossed Loki's face as the memory surfaced.

 _As long as chained his heart be,_

 _so shall his powers be caged._

 _Until he seeks his destined star,_

 _his spirit will not be free._

 _His eyes must e'er be opened to truth,_

 _his heart, to wisdom's rearing._

 _When he elects to renounce his dream,_

 _then, all, restored to him shall be._

The cryptic words mocked him as he rolled over onto his back. Had he not suffered enough? Had he not sacrificed? Exhausted rage bloomed beneath his breast as Loki sat up, stretching his right hand towards the curtains. _Open. I bid you, open!_ His muscles tightened, quivered, as Loki tried to will his power back into his blood. A sign – any sign – that the Norns had not lied to him, that his powers would be restored.

"Open, damn you!" he growled, pouncing to his feet and extending his left hand, both arms outstretched now. Still – nothing. With a roar of frustration, Loki leaped at the curtains, clawing at them. Bright light poured in, blinding him, and as he battled with the fabric, he heard the material rip. The heavy folds collapsed on him, tangling about his feet, and he crashed to the floor. The light tap on the door was lost in the sound of him pounding the floor in impotent fury.

"Loki?" He groaned at his mother's questing voice. Her soft footfalls neared him. "My son, what happened?" The full weight of his situation crashed down on him as he rolled over, tears of frustration welling in his eyes.

"Nothing! _Nothing_ happened, mother! One thousand moons, and _nothing,_ " he shouted.

Frigga's heart broke as she beheld her son. His face was ghastly white, his eyes bloodshot and swollen with exhaustion. His hair hung in straggly, clumped strands past his shoulders. Clad in only a pair of silk sleeping pants, he looked oddly vulnerable amid the torn curtains, the ragged sunlight deepening the shadows around him. She knelt beside him, tenderly brushing a lock of hair from his face before pressing her hand to his cheek.

"I can only imagine how hard this is for you, my son. In my joy and gratefulness to have you home, I am ashamed that I overlooked your pain. Forgive me."

Opening his eyes, Loki saw true regret in his mother's gaze, and sighed as he let himself enjoy her touch.

"It's alright, mother. I, too, am glad to be home. It's just…I thought that…"

Frigga smiled gently. "You thought at least some of your powers would return upon the dawn."

"Even just one, mother!" Loki jackknifed to a sitting position, propping his arms on his upturned knees. "It's as if even the Norns are still afraid of me seeking vengeance," he growled. Frigga rested her hand on his arm reassuringly.

"My dear, I do not know the happenings for you in the days ahead. But I do know that the sacred Norns are wise. They see you for who you truly are, and what you may be." She squeezed his arm slightly. "Please be patient. For me?"

Sighing deeply, Loki looked up at his mother, noting the love she offered in her beseeching gaze. Unbidden, his heart moved within him, and he placed his hand on top of her own.

"I'll try."

A huge smile stretched across Frigga's face. She willed herself not to pull her hand away from the deepening chill of being held by her son; involuntarily, her fingers shifted on his arm as the gelid sensation heightened. Immediately, Loki's eyes flew to hers, and as he stared into her eyes, her thoughts opened before him.

 _I will not leave you, my precious son. This cold is nothing compared to my love for you._

A prickling sensation ran over Loki's skin at the realization – a power had returned to him, that of reading someone's thoughts. He shuddered briefly, gasping at a breath. Squeezing his mother's hand, he released her from his cold grip and smiled.

"I love you, too, mother." At the recognition of his power, Frigga laughed joyfully as she hugged her son, tears stinging her eyes as she felt his arms circle around her. They helped each other to rise, Frigga still gazing fondly at him.

"'Tis time for dagmál. I'm sure the kitchens have the food ready. Come and break your fast."

Loki nodded as he rubbed his eyes. "As soon as I've cleaned up."

Glancing at the curtains, Frigga studied them. "I have always liked these drapes. I'll send for a seamstress. I know just the one. She'll mend them better than new." She cast a sideways glance at Loki as he headed to the bathing chamber. "Mayhap I should pay her in advance for more temper-tantrum-mending." She was rewarded with a low chuckle as the door shut behind him. Smiling, Frigga turned for the hall, her heart throbbing with peace.

Her youngest son was home.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Grey light sliced thinly in through the crack in the shutters, falling on her sleeping eyes. Groaning, Elina tightened around herself once, then slowly relaxed, stretching her back and shoulders before crawling out from beneath the heavy fur blanket. She tugged at one shutter and peered out, the sill high enough that she had to kneel on the bed to look out. Dawn was merely a suggestion in the east, and no one moved about the street yet. But the rustle in the tree beside her window told her the birds were waking. Tired or not, the day was here and the work would not wait.

Elina climbed out of bed, shivering as her toes touched the floor. She hurriedly made her bed, washed, and pulled on her clothing. She felt fabric catch as she pulled the skirt down over her shift, and craned around to look at her back.

"Oh," she groaned. Despite her best efforts, her patch jobs on her only work dress were popping loose, the threadbare weaving ragged and tattered. She tugged on the skirt, poking and stuffing unraveling material into a ripped seam. Squinting at it critically, she sighed in resignation. "It will just have to do. Maybe I can find some scraps today to re-piece just the back," she murmured to herself. As her work was nearly always solitary, she took a measure of comfort in knowing that no one would notice her rags.

After lacing up her bodice, Elina quickly combed her hair, hurrying it into three braids which she then braided together – the more binding the better, as her flyaway strands had a mind of their own. Glancing at the sun, she quickly pulled on her stockings and slid her feet into serviceable slippers, those, too, well-mended. Leather was another luxury to wish for on a rainy day. She crossed her small room to a table against the opposite wall and a small wooden box decorated with hand-painted scroll work. Prying open the hasp, she looked down at the few coins within. Even knowing their number, she still scooped them out for counting. _One, two, three….still only seven._ Enough to buy food for herself and Gudrid, or food for Gudrid and fabric scraps to mend her only work dress. Not both. Her wages wouldn't come till the morrow. Thinking quickly, Elina clenched her hand around the coins before shoving the lot in her pocket and spinning towards the door. From a basket next to the door, she fished up a pair of woolen, finger-less gloves from the pile stowed there and pulled them up her forearms beneath the loose sleeves of her dress. Then, she was on her way into the grey dawn.

The air was fresh with dew and crisp with early spring. Elina breathed deep as she walked the cobblestone path. A few short minutes had her at the baker's stall.

"Good morn, Truda!" she called as she entered.

"And to you, child, get yourself in here!" the older woman called. A hand appeared in the doorway at the back of the shop, waving to her in a brief cloud of flour. "You here to break your fast?"

"You know I can never resist your apple cakes," Elina smiled as Truda trudged her round frame out to behind the counter. She chuckled merrily as she gestured to the basket near Elina's left.

"I put some extra love in 'em just for you today, little girl! How's Gudrid?"

Selecting two cakes larger than her palm, Elina's smile faltered a bit as she handed them to Truda. "Not as well as I would hope. After her illness, her body seems robbed of strength. I'm hoping to get her to her chair today."

The kind-hearted baker sighed sadly; everyone knew and loved Gudrid.

"'Tis a shame that someone so skilled in healing can find no herb or potion for herself."

Elina took the wrapped package Truda handed her. "I fear no potion can reverse the toll that two-thousand years can have on our elder Asgardian."

"True. She has certainly earned her rest in Helgafjell."

At the words, Elina felt fear and loss clutch at her heart. _I know she's not mine, but please….not yet._

"Well, Truda, I'm off. I've a pile of mending as high as my head waiting for me."

The older woman laughed as she followed her outside, bending to collect more wood from the pile for her oven fires. "That can't be very high, little girl!"

Chuckling quietly, Elina waved her goodbye. Sunrise was now well underway, the light rosy as Sól prepared her chariot, the sun a sliver of molten pink against the sea. The sea itself was but a blue ribbon, so far was she from the shore. Elina continued on her way, enjoying the cool air and waving a greeting to those she knew as she passed. Presently, she arrived at a low cottage. It boasted two windows flanking a simple door; an ornately carved chair stood beside the portal. Elina paused to wipe the dust from it before tapping lightly on the door.

"Gudrid? 'Tis me, Elina." She heard a sound that could have been a welcome, so she opened the door and crept in. The shutters were still closed, shutting a gloomy feel into a room even smaller than her own. Elina took a few tentative steps forward. "Gudrid?"

"I'm up, girlie." A slight smile of relief tugged at the corner of her mouth as Elina strode forward. The frail figure was barely visible beneath the blankets on the bed. She gingerly seated herself beside the woman lying there.

"You certainly look comfortably 'up' to me," she teased, rewarded with a dry chuckle from the old woman. Reaching for the cup of water on the bedside table, Elina helped her take a sip.

"You're just not looking hard enough to see that I'm up." Her smile widened as Gudrid joked with her; more relief gladdened her heart and she chuckled as she rose to stand.

"Then I guess I'll have to get the fire going so I may see properly!" Finding straw, steel, and flint, Elina drew a spark to the end of the straw, carefully lighting the fire she had laid the night before. In just a few moments, the flames sparked cheerily, bringing light and warmth to the room as she moved about, doing other household chores that would keep Gudrid comfortable until she or Rania could come this evening.

As if reading her thoughts, Gudrid asked, "Does Rania come this evening?"

"We spoke of it, but I'll find her in the kitchens and make sure. If she cannot, I'll stop by."

"Mayhap I'll make a pot of soup today and have dinner waiting for you." The bed squeaked as Gudrid struggled to a sitting position, winded from even this small effort. Elina smiled at the woman as she unwrapped her package, placing both cakes in a trencher. She snatched an apple from the bowl on the table, leaving the pear and a hunk of cheese for later. Seating herself next to Gudrid on the bed, she wrapped her arm around the older woman.

"After all the dinners you've made for us? I think Rania or I can take a turn." Gudrid huffed, and Elina chuckled silently. "Let's get you to your chair today." She felt the woman hesitate and hurried on. "The sun is rising. The day promises to be fair. The doves nesting in your apple tree have some wee babes – they are teaching them new songs just to delight you," she cajoled.

Sighing, Gudrid put her hands on her knees, rocking forward to put her weight on her feet. "All that effort for me? I'd best go enjoy it."

Tightening her grip on the elder, Elina noted again the frailty of Gudrid's once robust frame as she helped her across the room. Gudrid paused at the door, flinching a bit as the light met her gaze. Her faded eyes wandered over the tops of the building rolling away from them, the ribbon of the sea beyond, coming to rest on the branches of the apple tree. Here and there, a branch whispered and fluttered. Then, a chirp – faint, questing. An answering note from the matron dove, and then the two birds began discussing in earnest the needs of the morning, coos and calls filling the air.

Seeing the small smile that touched Gudrid's face, Elina felt her heart squeeze with gladness.

"Let me fetch a cushion and your wrap for you. I'll be but a moment." Leaving the elder holding carefully to the door frame, she fetched a worn but comfortable cushion for her seat. Gudrid's favorite shawl hung over the short post of the bed; Gudrid claimed to have sat beside Frigga herself as they spun the wool together, and that Frigga had snuck a strand of gossamer cloud in as they knit the garment. It was one of many tales Gudrid had shared whilst she was growing up, and one of her favorites.

After patting the cushion securely into the chair, Elina saw her friend carefully seated, gently wrapping the shawl around her stooped shoulders. Her fingers grazed Gudrid's neck, and the elder shivered slightly. Elina jerked her hand back, instinctively fisting her hands into her loose sleeves.

"Forgive me, Gudrid," she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut. _Again, I forget myself_ , she scolded herself.

The old woman rested back in her chair, smiling at the girl kneeling beside her. The rising sun had turned the light to gold. Bright rays eased fully into the doorway, slanting down onto Elina's bent head. The light haloed about her, picking blue hints into her black hair and sparkle into her white. She placed a gnarled finger under Elina's chin, raising her eyes to meet her own.

"Forgive? Forgive what? A sweet chilly kiss by an angel? Bah!" Elina gave her a half-hearted smile at their old joke. "Now – are you holding that food hostage? Is that Truda's apple cakes I smell?"

"Oh – yes. Here," the younger woman thrust the trencher into Gudrid's hands. "She said she baked extra love into it, just for you."

"A kiss by an angel _and_ extra love? My, this is a sweet morning indeed," she chortled. At her elder's animation, a true grin spread across her face as Elina reached to hug her.

"I must away. The dawn may beat me to the palace."

Patting Elina's cheek, Gudrid then made a shooing motion. "Go on, off with you. Give the royal family my regards."

Chuckling brightly, Elina hurried down the path, her heart light once more. Gudrid watched her go, a true smile creasing her wrinkled face. She remembered the first time she laid eyes on that precious girl. She knew it was wrong to have favorites among children; but ah, that girl had a piece of her heart no one else held.

By the time she reached the servant's entrance, Elina's head was pounding. Opening the door, she stepped inside and hurried through the maze of corridors toward the kitchens, hoping to catch Rania before she was due in the sewing room. The aroma of baking bread and roasting meat sent pain hammering at her temples as she stood in the doorway, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Good morn, Elina!" A chorus of similar greetings met her ears, and Elina forced a smile to her face.

"Good morn. Is Rania about?"

A young woman with riotous curling red hair waved steam wafting from the pot before her out of her face. "Hello, Elina! Rania is fetching cream from below, she should return any moment."

"Thank you, Disa. How are you today?" Elina paused to lean against the counter, trying to ignore the growling of her stomach.

The other woman smiled as she wiped her face with her apron. "Ah – cooking for my brood at home, cooking for this brood here, it keeps me young! How are you, little girl?"

Before Elina had to answer, a tall young woman came bounding up the stairs, her rich golden hair flying about her shoulders. Spying Elina, she didn't even hesitate, but tightened her grasp on the large crock in her arms and continued straight for her.

"Little girl!" She almost toppled Elina with her exuberance, flinging an arm about the smaller woman and hugging her mightily. "It's been too long!"

Laughing as she hugged her back, Elina replied, "Rania, it's been but since yesterday!"

Rania smacked a kiss on her cheek. "A whole day is too long for me!"

"I promise a nice long visit soon, but now I must hurry. Are you still free to fetch dinner for Gudrid?"

"Of course. The head cook promised to save back some lamb stew for her. I'll take it to her before I go home to Aren." The other girl's brown eyes frowned at her worriedly. "Are you alright, Elina? You look a bit peaked."

Elina slapped what she hoped was a carefree smile to her face. "Certainly! I must be distracted this morning. I'd best be on my way." She quickly turned towards the hall, hoping against hope she would have enough time to stop and get some water to fool her belly.

"Wait, I almost forgot!" Disa called to her, reaching into her apron pocket. "Truda sent this. She said two of your coins were stuck together, so she owed you." In the woman's hand rested a wedge of fyrstekake, or almond cake, smaller than her apple cakes but the blessed woman remembered it was Elina's very favorite of her baked goods. Elina didn't believe for a moment that a coin had escaped her frantic counting, but was too grateful to argue.

"Thank you, Disa," she murmured, her mouth filling with saliva. Striding down the hall towards the sewing room, Elina forced herself to eat the small treat slowly. Náttmál's meal, provided by the palace to the staff, wouldn't come till sundown. Rounding the last corner, she was just about to enter the sewing room when a soft voice called out to her.

"Ah, just the person I'm looking for. Good morn, Elina!"

Caught by surprise, Elina hurriedly swallowed the last lump of frystekake in her mouth as she dropped to one knee, her right hand over her heart.

"Good morn, my queen."

Frigga's eyes smiled down on her kindly. "Rise, please, Elina. I wondered if you would be able to complete a task for me before day's end?"

Elina returned the smile. "I would be happy to try. Might I see the task, your highness? I can give you a better answer on the time I require."

"If you have time, I can show you now."

"Let me just tell Mistress Solvi of my errand, your highness." Nodding her assent, Elina quickly ducked into the sewing chamber and hurriedly advised her superior that she was at the queen's call. The plump, grey-haired woman, her lap overflowing with fresh wool to be spun, laughingly waved her off and Elina returned to Frigga's side.

The sewing chamber was on the ground floor of the palace; Frigga led the way up a narrow staircase Elina knew led to the next floor, then continued around the landing to the larger staircase that led to the rooms occupied by the royal family. Elina enjoyed the feel of the smooth marble beneath her fingers, tipping her head back to look at the beautifully frescoed ceilings of the stairway. A cool breeze suddenly wafted over her, and Elina looked forward to see them approaching another landing. She could scarce believe her eyes! Golden sunlight poured in high arched open doorways. Sculpted balustrades rowed off balconies, with the sea a cobalt expanse beyond. Gold gilt gleamed in the light in every direction.

At a gentle chuckle from the queen, Elina jumped guiltily, bowing her head.

"Forgive me, your highness. I forgot myself."

"There is no need, Elina. It is beautiful. I didn't realize you hadn't been to these floors before. I'd take you on a tour, but I am hoping you can complete this mending before day's end and want to give you enough time. Perhaps another day?" the older woman asked, beckoning kindly with outstretched hand. Elina mumbled an appropriate reply, keeping pace with the queen as she glided down the hall. She forced herself to face forward, ignoring the tantalizing glimpses on either side as they passed hall after hall. Frigga turned towards a different wing after several minutes, the guards posted there coming to attention and opening the doors before her. Her eyes wide, Elina wondered, _Guards? Is this the royal family's private wing? Surely not! She would ask Mistress Solvi to such a task before I!_

She had not long to wonder. Just a few moments more, and the queen paused in front of another set of double doors, the wood rich, dark mahogany with heavy brass fastenings. Elina watched silently as Frigga rapped at the door.

"My son? 'Tis I," she queried.

 _Oh, my stars above! Not Prince Thor!_

When she received no answer, Frigga turned the heavy knob and eased the door open, turning to smile at Elina as she beckoned the girl to follow. The doors opened into a large room. The walls were paneled with the same dark wood as the door, each bearing simple carvings that carried an understated elegance. To the right was a seating area. That wall bore a great stone fireplace where coals glowed tiredly, flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookcases that fairly groaned under the weight of various tomes. A large leather chair, looking comfortably soft, held an open book on its seat. Some well-used floor cushions lay haphazardly on the expansive floor rug. On the opposite wall stood a large bed, ebony wood and impressively carved. On either side were windows stretching to the ceiling, clasps at the center to open the panes and catch the sea breezes. Long, heavy drapes were wrought in emerald green, gold, and rich brown; they shouldn't have matched the other furnishings, but complemented the room perfectly. The whole space smelled pleasantly of fresh air, rosemary, and a hint of spice.

Her attention was immediately snagged upon seeing that the farthest drapes were clearly torn, the ragged edges visible from her vantage point. She instinctively left the queen's side, gathering up the mass pooled on the floor, her fingers quickly finding the rent where the edges once met. Working swiftly, Elina measured off the tears, then the material, stretching it out to let the light play on the fabric's surface so she could see weaving and stitch. Lost in her work, she didn't see Frigga's soft smile as she watched her.

"I'm afraid my son forgets his strength."

Elina smiled but didn't look up. "It would be easy to do so for Prince Thor."

"True, but Prince Loki forgets, as well."

Unable to stop herself, Elina swiveled in the queen's direction, surprise stopping her movements. Noting that her queen regarded her with calm, almost measuring eyes, Elina forced her jaw not to drop open even as her heart began to pound with uncertainty.

"O-of course, your highness, Prince Loki would forget, as well," she reiterated, cringing at how inane she sounded. With an effort, she turned her attention back to her work. "If you would allow me to remove these curtains now, your highness, I believe I could have them done by náttmál. Certainly before the prince would be ready to ready and wish them here and closed."

Frigga clapped her hands together with a pleased smile. "Wonderful! And of course, you may take them now. Thank you, my dear!"

Elina offered her a shy smile, releasing the material as she glanced around the room. The two quickly discovered a stool resting beneath a table against the wall. Scandalized at the thought of the queen moving the stool, the older woman simply laughed at her as it took both of them to scoot it into place for Elina to climb upon. Frigga saw her safely atop it, then reached to hold the heavy material for her as the younger woman worked to undo the fixtures holding them to the rod.

"You….you must be pleased to have Prince Loki….with you now," Elina stammered out, trying to make conversation as the task took longer than she imagined.

"Yes. I know the coming days will be hard for him, but I cannot deny a mother's joy in his return."

Elina pondered those words silently. _Loki the Trickster, Loki the Mischief God….after his antics on Midgard, let alone here, I'm sure many here will scorn him._ Her own thoughts gave her pause. _For he is different._

 _Different._

Watching the young girl, Frigga could only guess at her thoughts. She said nothing as Elina finally released the first of two panels. Her bright grey eyes were troubled as she gazed at her queen.

"Mayhap….mayhap he will find joy and welcome awaiting him."

A bit surprised herself now, Frigga smiled quizzically, pleased at this shy maiden's response. Many a girl would be quaking with fear, ready to refuse the task given her. The queen knew more truth about the feared Loki than anyone, knew well he deserved their fear. But this girl…

The panel fell fully from the rod, and a block of bright light fell upon Elina. Her woven braids had swung forward over her shoulder; the mass was more black than white, but where the light touched the white swath, a hint of sparkles burst forth. The combination was odd, Frigga had never seen the like in all her years. But the stark contrast only seemed to make her eyes silver, more soulful. She offered the girl a small smile

"Perhaps he will." As Elina reached up to work on the second panel, Frigga stroked the fabric as she folded it neatly. "I always liked this fabric. I wove it myself. My handmaiden, Gna, helped me."

"Oh?!" Again, Elina swiveled in her direction, her eyes even larger now than at learning the room's owner.

"Yes. She dyed the wool for me, and together we spun it and wove it for my son. It's always been a fond memory of mine."

The last panel freed, Elina held it in her arms, fingering it for a moment before stepping down from the stool and bowing before her queen.

"Your highness, I am honored that you chose me. But for such an important task….I worry I will not do you justice," Elina stammered out shakily.

"Nonsense! Who mended my favorite cloak in mere moments?"

"I did, your highness, but – "

"And my rainbow veil?"

"I did, but –"

"And the Allfather's royal blue silk cape so that the mend never showed and fooled even his manservant?"

"I did, my queen, but –"

Frigga laughed cheerily. "No more 'buts', my dear. You are the perfect one for this task. Now, do you think you can find your way to the staircase? And back here again later?" Wordlessly, Elina nodded her assent. "Excellent. Send word with Mistress Solvi should you have any needs. Otherwise, I must bid you good day, my dear. The Allfather is expecting me."

Sinking to her knee with her hand over her heart, Elina peeked up as she heard the swish of the queen's skirts and watched her leave the room. The enormity of the situation crashed over her. She was standing in the bedroom of the most feared being in the nine realms, holding his curtains in her hands, and would need to mend them to his satisfaction. His dissatisfaction didn't bear thinking about.

"Oh, my stars above, what have I done?"


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

In all the days he had spent dreaming of this moment, he found himself unprepared. The brightness of the sunlight and the clear blue sky squinted his eyes, but he still forced them open to take in everything. A warm, soft breeze poured over him, breathing the sweetness of Asgard. He marveled at the sheer color – rooftops in rust, brown. Window frames painted blue, green, purple. A banner here and there of scarlet or yellow from atop a doorway. The cobblestoned paths wove their way in sand-colored curves. Heavy blue waves, flecked here and there with white foam. And through its middle slashed the straight, clear line of the rainbow bridge. Its colors waved in unbelievable brilliance. Bright magenta, sapphire, emerald, titian – they flowed and undulated to the horizon, culminating in the great gold globe of the Bifrost that had been restored.

The beauty of it after a lifetime of darkness and grey light took his breath away. Loki gasped at the emotion that overwhelmed him, tears pricking at his eyes. This – this feeling of amazement, joy, even – it was foreign to his heart. He tried to drum up anger or jealousy, anything familiar and comfortable to drive away this new, alien emotion. But the gasp drew in more of the sweetness, more of the light, and he could find no fuel for anger. He simply stood, letting the moment thread through him.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?"

Loki stiffened at the voice, his hands tightening briefly on the marble balustrade.

"I'm surprised you noticed. As I recall, beautiful scenery never caught your attention."

A mild chuckle answered him before his brother spoke. "What say you? I've always had an eye for beauty."

Turning to face his brother for the first time with no barrier between them, Loki looked at Thor with a slightly bored expression. "For women? Of course. For horizons? Only unless they bore the ladies fair."

Instead of the boisterous guffaw or indignant response Loki might have expected in the past, Thor merely smiled widely. "Let us say that the years have helped me broaden my horizons." He stared at Loki intently, his smile fading as he seemed to be assessing him, measuring him. The two men regarded each other silently for several moments. The corner of Thor's mouth lifted slightly.

"It's good to see you today, brother."

Still awash in conflicting emotions, Loki drew a deep breath as he struggled with his frayed control.

"Is it?"

"Of course!" Thor quickly replied. Loki didn't respond, but studied him silently.

The passing of the moons had aged the god of thunder some. His hair was longer, but still hung rather messily – half pulled back, half hanging in his face. A new scar he had never noticed before had nicked the corner of his right eyebrow. This morning, he had foregone his trademark scarlet cape and metal armor for a dark grey surcoat over a muted burgundy tunic and dark brown leather breeches, Mjolnir hanging casually from his belt. The brash, swaggering air that had previously been such a part of him was strangely absent. But the blue eyes Loki remembered from their childhood were still just as piercing when he gazed at one directly. As he gazed at him now.

As Loki stared at his brother, so Thor stared at him. Always the more slender of the two of them, Loki's frame was more gaunt than he remembered. His green eyes, always carefully blank so you never knew what he was thinking, were more shadowed. Ebony hair hung to his shoulders, as straight and smooth as ever. A curious mix of chastisement, longing, arrogance, anger emanated from him, and Thor couldn't help but feel sorry for his brother. With all his heart, he silently urged him to accept his sincere greeting. Instead of giving him the bone-cracking hug he originally planned, Thor instead stepped back, giving Loki more breathing room, and gestured to the hall.

"Dagmál awaits us. Mother has ordered a feast for you!"

Seeing the imploring in Thor's eyes, hearing it in his words, Loki found himself too weary to stir up any true anger. With a nod of his head, Loki stepped forward.

"A feast? Well, then, by all means. Lead the way."

A huge smile spread across Thor's face as he clapped a hand on Loki's shoulder. "Come! Follow me!"

Their bootfalls echoed in the hall as they walked to the dining room; neither spoke along the way, Thor sensing that Loki wasn't up for it. Indeed, Loki was too busy reacquainting his eyes to memory as he gazed at ceiling, archway, even the large flowering vines clambering a balcony that he had forgotten. In mere moments, tantalizing aromas began stealing their way towards the men as they neared, and Loki felt his mouth water. While Frigga had always ensured his food was more than adequate in prison, it was certainly not the fare he had enjoyed before his fall. He paused in the doorway, unable to stop himself from staring at the bounty awaiting them. Hot, roasted ham; large platters of fluffy scrambled eggs; crystal pitchers of juice; a polished silver dish of steaming cooked cereal; and on the table were several large bowls of fruit and sliced bread. A new smell, unfamiliar, wafted to him from a different side table. Loki came fully into the room, stepping closer to see a small silver tea pot, steam rising from the spout. But the aroma didn't match the memories of his mother's teas.

"'Tis a drink from Midgard. Thor says it's called coffee." At the voice, Loki slowly rose to his full height, then turned to face the Allfather. Still as imposing as ever, Odin regarded him calmly. Loki forced himself to breathe slowly as an explosion of emotion caused heat to flood his skin, just as rapidly replaced by cold. He arranged a bored expression on his face, determined to show the man none of his turmoil. Lifting an eyebrow sardonically, he turned towards Thor.

"So, you're picking up bad habits from Midgard, now?"

Another huge smile lit Thor's features.

"Wait until you try it! They sell it on nearly every street corner. You wouldn't believe the coins Midgardians shell out for it."

Before he could reply, Frigga swept into the doorway. Her smile was all joy and pure benediction to Loki's raw nerves.

"Loki! My son!" A true smile tugged at Loki's lips as he bent to embrace her, feeling her arms hug him tightly.

"Ever as I was just a bit ago, mother."

Frigga smiled up at him brightly, tucking a hand in the crook of his arm.

"Come! I've had all your favorites prepared!"

Within moments, they were seated and servants began carrying the dishes around. Loki smirked inwardly as one particular young maiden tried and failed to not sneak wide-eyed looks in his direction.

"Ah!" Thor's satisfied exclamation pulled his attention, and he watched as his brother poured a dark brown brew into a mug with a flourish, extending it to him. "Try it, brother. 'Tis addictive stuff!"

Sniffing hesitantly, Loki was surprised to find the aroma pleasant – warm, rich, like nothing else he'd experienced. He took a tentative sip, frowning a bit at the slightly bitter taste. He glanced up to see Thor pushing a round silver tray towards him, bearing two small silver pots and a wee pitcher.

"Jane drinks it like that, but her friend Darcy taught me to add these things. I find it improves the drink mightily."

Loki pulled the tray closer, seeing that one pot held spices – a quick whiff told him cinnamon and cloves. The second pot bore thick golden honey. And the pitcher held fresh cream. At Thor's urging, Loki added a pinch of spices, a drizzle of honey, and a splash of milk, stirring until the dark drink turned velvety and golden. He sipped again gingerly, fully expecting some vile concoction. But his eyebrows raised in surprise at the sweet, spicy taste. He glanced up to see Thor staring at him expectantly, in danger of overflowing his own mug with the hot beverage. Loki offered him an approving nod.

"'Tis tolerable, indeed. This Darcy must have training in sorcery." He smiled slyly as he spooned eggs onto his plate. "Isn't she the one that also wields the power of lightning?"

Thor's laughter boomed across the room, and Loki felt a skirl of delight under his breastbone.

…. _can't believe he heard about that! Ha! I've missed this Loki! How good it is to see him smiling._ Thor's happy thoughts danced in Loki's mind, almost making him dizzy. He shook his head slightly, turning his attention to his food. Frigga immediately stepped in, starting conversation with Thor that didn't require Loki's participation. He ate silently for several moments, relishing in the sumptuous food. Gradually, the tension emanating from Odin prodded at his attention.

 _Are you angry, Allfather? Regretful? Afraid? Plotting more punishment, perhaps?_ he thought dourly. He cast a glaring look out of the corner of his eye at the elder, carefully shielded by his bowed head. _Have no worries, old man. I've no plans for revenge. For today, at least._

Pushing his empty plate away, Loki picked up his mug, the taste of the coffee appealing more and more as he sipped.

"Is the food not to your liking, son?" Frigga queried.

"Not at all, mother, it's delightful."

Thor frowned at him over his plate of seconds. "But you've barely eaten!" He gestured at the empty plate with his fork. "You used to be able to keep pace with me."

A sly smirk pulled at the corner of Loki's mouth. "If it's a contest you desire, brother, seek out Volstagg. As I recall, I watched him eat a full roasted pig in one sitting."

Another chuckle broke from Thor as he chewed a mouthful. "Indeed! Thrice that!" Swallowing his bite, Thor lifted a glass of juice. "Have you any plans for the day? Sif and the Warriors Three are looking forward to seeing you."

Belly full and head cleared, resentment crawled up into his throat and Loki scowled. "There was nothing preventing them from seeing me the last one thousand moons, brother."

Silence fell on the room like a wall at his words. Thor looked stricken.

"Loki – brother, I – I didn't mean – ," the warrior stammered out.

"I've no wish to be gawked at like a new breed of insect," Loki ground out.

Frigga drew a silent, deep breath as she beheld her sons. "Loki, Thor simply meant there are people who are waiting to reconnect with you. Happily, so."

"Really, mother? Are they ready to 'happily' reconnect with me in order to see my head on a pike outside the walls of Asgard?" he growled, dragging a hand through his hair in agitation.

"You will not speak to your mother that way." The reprimand from Odin, while not shouted, still echoed sternly. Loki's head swiveled to stare at the Allfather, almost trembling with mute defiance. Odin returned the stare passively. "If you hope to be met with kind regard, you must be prepared to offer it."

Ragnarök would turn them all to ash before Loki would admit the truth of his words. Instead, he meticulously wiped his mouth on a linen napkin before getting to his feet. Coming around the table, he brushed a kiss to his mother's cheek, and nodded politely at Thor. Retrieving his cooling mug of coffee, Loki tossed a mockery of a salute at Odin.

"By your leave, sire." Spinning on his heel, he tossed over his shoulder, "Give the Warriors Three and the fair Sif my apologies."

The sound of cutlery against china rang in the dining hall as Thor abandoned his meal, sighing as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Frigga shared a troubled look with her husband before reaching out to squeeze Thor's hand, offering him a smile.

"I think he liked the coffee!"

The day had lengthened considerably when Mistress Solvi stood from her chair and dismissed her staff for the day. Work was quietly folded, threads spooled, needles tucked into drawers while the women murmured their goodbyes to her. Solvi tended to the fire, carefully banking it to sleep and be ready for waking in the morn. Sighing as she flexed her tired hands, the elder turned to look at the last occupant in the room.

Mistress Frigga had seen to it that several windows were built into the roof of the sewing room, knowing that this kind of close work required more than lamps and firelight. One such window remained open, pouring a square beam of light down upon Elina. As the heat from the fire died, a chill stole its way into the room. The aromas of náttmál filtered their way through the chamber – savory lamb, wild celery, parsnips – a hearty stew to fill the bellies of the many hard workers in the palace. But Elina took no heed of her surroundings, so intent was she on her work. A gentle smile creased the elder's face as she beheld the girl.

"Elina?"

Startled from her rigorous concentration, Elina jumped a bit as she looked up, blinking at Solvi.

"Yes, mistress?"

"'Tis time and past for stopping. Leave off on your task until the morrow." The elder smiled once again as Elina turned and blinked anew at the clock. Easily her most talented seamstress, Solvi had watched Elina become lost time and again in her work. This piece, however, she had tackled with a quiet determination that had surprised even she.

Elina carefully inspected her work, seeing she lacked but a quarter hour to finish. "Thank you for the reminder, Mistress Solvi. I'm nearly finished. I'll go down to dinner shortly."

Shaking her head slightly at the girl, her grey hair glistening in the dying light, Solvi reached down to pat her soft cheek gently. "Very well, my dear. Say hello to Gudrid for me. I'll see you tomorrow."

Elina called out a quiet farewell, quickly immersing herself in the work again. While some of the women found repair work tedious, preferring to work on new pieces, she found that this was where she shone. Possessing an instinctive ability to weave together rent ends and match thread color, Elina's work more often than not left the owner unable to even find the mend afterwards. Always meticulous in her work, Elina poured over this task with singular focus. For the queen, she demanded perfection.

She spent long hours painstakingly picking apart threads, matching their color, binding thread to thread, then weaving ends back together. Now, she carefully restitched hemming into the cloth, her stitches tiny and even, paying careful attention to ensure the fabric would hang smoothly. Almost exactly fifteen minutes later, she knotted her thread and snipped it off, getting to her feet. The muscles in her neck cramped briefly, and hunger pounded in her head. It had been a long day, indeed, with no food since the bite she had consumed that morning. Rotating her head to stretch the muscles in her neck and shoulders, Elina crossed the room to put needle and scissors in their resting places, then briskly folded the fabric. Sunset was well underway, and from the familiar noises above stairs, náttmál was also begun. If she hurried, she could rehang the curtain before Prince Loki ended his day.

Carefully closing the chamber door behind her, Elina made for the stairs with a quick stride. She cleared the first landing, pausing on the second that put her on the royal floor. Servants she didn't recognize passed her, moving in either direction, all intent on their errands. Drawing a deep breath, Elina turned and retraced her steps from the morning. She paused once where two hallways crossed; the play of dusk's light on the arches changed the space enough that Elina struggled to remember which way was Prince Loki's chamber. Bootfalls caught her attention, and she turned to see guards in the corridor, exchanging post for night's watch over the royal brothers.

A few steps more put her before the guards; Elina felt her hands begin to tremble, as much from fear as from hunger. Her gaze glued itself to the floor.

"I – I'm on an errand for her majesty, Queen Frigga," she made out past her dry throat, cringing at how croaky her voice sounded. When neither guard moved, she braved a glance up to see both of them looking at her speculatively. Gathering her wits, she gestured with the fabric in her arms. "I've mending for the prince."

Satisfied, the guards came to attention and pulled open the doors. Elina wasted no time but hurried on her way. Before long, she was at the heavy mahogany doors she remembered from this morning. But now, there was no queen to accompany her into the chamber.

Prince Loki's chamber.

Tightening her grip on the curtains, Elina drew in a steadying breath, raising her hand to knock timidly at the portal.

"Your highness? I've mending for you." No answer met her tremulous words. Waiting a moment more, Elina hesitantly opened the door and peered in. A fire had been lit in the hearth, blazing cheerily against the shadows that sunset heightened. Elina didn't hesitate longer, but quickly flew across the room. If she hurried, she would have the task done in a wink and be off.

Purple shadows were drawing down the rooftops and darkening the trees. From his hidden vantage point, Loki could just make out the first wink of the evening star, a faint tender light against the deepening blue. Weariness pulled at his body, stooping his shoulders and sapping any desire to move. He knew his mother was probably fretting about his absence from náttmál, but he found he had no appetite. Indeed, it was all he could do to just breathe at the moment.

Perched on a tiny balcony on the top floor of the library, Loki had folded his frame into an old, favored hiding place. Two large potted plants, both bearing fragrant flowers and thick foliage, stood within the archway that looked down into the open center of the library. They created a perfect screen against the balcony's edge, more a window with a stone balustrade across than a true porch. The small width of floor was enough for him to sit, and the length a match for his outstretched legs. Thick drapery moved gently in the breeze, nodding the blossoms against arm, shoulder, and head. But Loki paid no heed. In this spot, he could see just above the edge of the balustrade. It had been a favorite haunt of his for years. A whiff of lamb and baking bread, an echo of his brother's voice told him the evening meal was underway. But Loki didn't move; he let his mind wander over the day, his first full day of freedom in a thousand moons.

It hadn't been the day he expected.

In his years of imprisonment, he had dreamt constantly of all he would do as soon as he was free. Instead, as he wandered about the palace, he found himself riddled with anxiety. Every corner seemed to bear suspicious eyes. Every guard's gaze curious, measuring. A passing noble, scornful, afraid. Cotton-mouthed with fear, feeling defenseless without his powers, Loki had retreated to the only place he'd ever known true peace – the library. The scent of old paper and ink had comforted him; but memories here, too, mocked him. Nose buried in spell textbooks. His mother beside him, smiling with pride as he showed her another magical ability he had mastered. Thor's indignant bellows when one of his tricks caught the older brother unawares. All these recollections only whispered insidiously of his continued loss. No, his continued punishment. For still no additional powers had returned to him.

He felt oddly more imprisoned now than he had yesterday.

Sudden anger drove him to his feet, and he crept quietly from his safety towards his room. _Might as well go to bed. At least there will be no enemies there,_ he grumbled to himself. Fatigue hammered at his temples, and he rubbed his eyes vigorously as he walked. The guards came to attention as he approached, quickly opening the doors to the wing where he and Thor dwelt. A sound – a sniff – from one of them gave Loki pause, offense rippling across his raw nerves. He turned a cold glare on the offender, a youngish soldier with ruddy face and close-clipped beard. His gaze was carefully trained straight ahead, but at the prince's attention, he wavered.

"You have something to say?" Loki's voice, rough and deep, ground out the words. A sudden bead of sweat rolled down the guard's face.

"No, sir. I mean, no, your highness."

"Then, I'll thank you to be silent at your post," hissed the prince, stalking through the doors. Anger and weariness warred within him, his footfalls becoming lighter as his fury at the situation grew. He snatched open the door to his room and strode in, coming to a halt at the sight before him.

A servant, wearing naught but rags, stood on a stool next to his bed, holding his curtains in one hand and a candle in the other. She apparently hadn't heard him come in; as he watched in the dying light from sunset, she raised the candle up and down, holding the fabric out so it flared.

The anger that had been festering within him all day exploded into rage. Moving silently, Loki swept to the girl's side. So intent was she on her task that she still took no notice of him.

"Looking for the best place to light it?"

Elina shrieked at the sudden voice, teetering for a heartbeat as she flung her hand out to grasp anything to stop her fall. What she grasped was a shoulder, strong – immovable. Snatching her hand back in surprise, Elina looked down into the coldest eyes she had ever seen. Inky black hair spilled around chiseled cheekbones and chin. Thin lips were drawn into a snarl. She felt her heart stop and sink into her stomach before it began to pound painfully.

"Prince Loki!" she breathed, her eyes widening as she took in his rage.

"Yes, slave, it seems I've interrupted you. But assassination but curtain fire seems a pathetic plan indeed." Fury tightened and coiled in his stomach; Loki reached out and grabbed the girl's arm, blinded to her wince of pain.

"Your highness, no, I – "

"Silence, slave!" With a jerk of his hand, Loki yanked her off the stool and onto the floor, sneering when she let out a gasp of pain. The candle bounced from her hand, spinning melted wax across the marble surface. "You think you can just come in here and try to strike me down?" Crouching over her, he reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her gaze up to his. "Who sent you?"

Tears spilled out of her eyes as pain roared through her body. Elina fought for breath, panic clawing at her throat.

"No one, your highness! I didn't – I mean, I'm not – ," She gasped, her whispered words cut off as Loki's other hand found her braid, clenching her hair painfully.

"You go back and tell them it will take more than some wretched slave to kill me. Me! Loki of Asgard!" With a final yank on arm and hair, he tossed her from him and stood, looking disdainfully down at her. "Now. Get out of here. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

Shaking so hard her teeth chattered, Elina dragged herself to her feet, hearing fabric rip as she scrabbled for purchase on the floor. The sharp, mocking laugh from the prince as her skirt sagged from jagged, gaping seams had her running from the room. Uncaring who saw her, Elina ran and ran – down hallway, stairway, alleyway, running until her side hurt and her vision blurred. Finally, behind her locked door, she paused. Shaking, gasping for breath, Elina stumbled to her knees, gingerly cradling her hands to her chest. Her right forearm throbbed, and she held it up in the last of the day's light – marks the shape of a man's fingers were already coloring her skin. Her other arm burned as the last of the melted wax flaked off her flesh, tiny threads of burned wool from her gloves dragging into the wound. Hunger, fatigue, pain, fear – all combined to pound agony into the girl's head. A sob broke from her throat; unable to move, Elina curled up on the floor, weeping brokenly, a thousand fears clamping onto her throat. Dismissed from her position. Imprisonment. Banishment. Death. Each threat of the morrow stole the very breath from her.

It felt as if her life had ended.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

A sound from out of doors stitched through her sleep, prodding her to wakefulness. Dazed, Elina lay where she was, unmoving, near frozen in daybreak's cooler clime. Gradually, she became aware of an itching roughness against her cheek. She dragged a hand up, gasping in pain at the movement. Drawing in a breath, Elina worked to open her eyes, swollen and sanded from her tears the night before. In the faint light of dawn, she glanced around her and saw she was curled up on the floor, her hands still cradled against her chest. Using her elbows, she gradually worked herself into a sitting position. Elina gripped the edges of her right glove with her teeth, dragging it fully off from where it bunched around her wrist loosely. Wincing in discomfort, she flexed her wrist, clenching and unclenching her hand. Her fingers worked well enough, but her wrist ached when she rotated the joint. Bruised fingerprints glared at her in deep purple swaths against her white skin. Elina heaved a weary sigh as her left arm began to throb.

Remembering the pain from the night before, Elina knew better than to try and pull her other glove off. Indeed, she could see woolen threads now crusted in the dried oozing fluids from the burn. Painful blisters raised the skin in red, angry patches. Even the smallest movement of her fingers pulled at the skin, sending fresh pain up her arm.

Distantly, Elina felt a dull throbbing in her head. She had had no food in what seemed like ages, nor any water since early afternoon the day before. The thought of water got her moving; laboriously, she made her way to her bed, using it to leverage herself to her feet. Weakness set her hands and knees to trembling, but she forced herself to the pitcher and bowl on the table. Water splashed about the table before she managed to pour some out into the bowl, lifting it to her dry, cracked lips. Tears of relief smarted her eyes as she forced herself not to gulp it down. Her thirst quenched, Elina sighed as she stepped back; her worn slipper caught the dragging end of her skirt, and before Elina could catch herself, the material ripped in earnest, leaving only her bodice and a ragged, tattered front panel of the skirt. Stumbling, tottering, Elina fell more than sat on the low bed, pausing there to catch her breath.

 _No guards. Perhaps my execution is delayed,_ she thought dimly. A memory flashed before her – cold, raging eyes burning into her; powerful, cruel fingers clenching hard against her tender flesh. The remembrance brought a chill blooming on her skill that had nothing to do with the morn.

 _I can't go back there! I can't!_ God of Mischief – she would feel his eyes on her everywhere in the palace. The threat of his power, of his powers, brought the whispered stories ringing in her ears.

 _….. say he almost destroyed all of Jotunheim….heard them talk of his cruelty on Midgard, leaving thousands dead…Fandral said he saw him create as many as ten clones of himself and use them to taunt the….._

Her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe, Elina squeezed her eyes shut. _Is this why I was sent here? To live so unseen and then die?_

But the thoughts went no further than her heart.

Slowly, Elina willed herself to calm down. Looking down at her wounded, tattered self, she admitted there was no reporting for work today regardless of any looming punishment. She could hardly be seen in just her shift, nor were her hands up to the task. Her stomach cramped painfully, and Elina let her eyes drift shut as she floundered about for a way up.

First of all, she knew she must get word to Mistress Solvi. Although she knew she would weep later about the lost wages, it couldn't be helped. Even the simplest task was beyond her at the moment. Secondly, she must see if someone could check on Gudrid; her mind already whirled with what message to pass on to her precious elder, lest she spend her energy needlessly worrying about her. Perhaps Truda would be kind enough to check on the older woman. Then, and only then, could Elina start working on her other needs – food, healing, and clothing.

Drawing in another deep breath, Elina forced her pain from her mind and concentrated on the task at hand. Moving determinedly, she ripped the last of the skirt from its seams, keeping a listening ear trained on the activity outside her door. Quickly wrapping a light shawl about her waist like an apron, Elina opened her door.

"Good morn, Sindri!" The young lad, pushing a small wheeled cart before him bearing a handful of copper canisters, stopped across from her home.

"Good morn, Elina! Did you want some milk today?"

Smiling gently at the boy, Elina shook her head. "Not this moment, Sindri. I wondered if I could trouble you for an errand on your way to the market."

A huge grin lit his face as Sindri nudged his hat back with his hand. "A course!"

"Would you be good enough to ask Truda to check on Gudrid? I've been detained unexpectedly today."

"Sure! Want me to fetch anything a 'fore you head to the palace?"

Feeling as if her face would crack if she held her smile much longer, Elina shook her head once more. "Thank you, but no. I'll be sure to knit you a new cap – mayhap in that bright blue yarn I've caught you admiring."

Sindri whistled his cheer as he hustled down the way, his copper cans rattling happily in the rosy morning light. Elina's shoulders sagged as she watched him go; Gudrid would be cared for, at least. Shutting her door, Elina opened one shutter for light, then poured herself another cup of water. Sipping the cool liquid, she carefully cataloged her belongings, struggling to add up enough to pay for both fabric and food.

 _I've four silver needles. I could make the smaller ones work for my tasks, and sell two. That will fetch me maybe three gold coins._ Elina continued to pace about the room, her gaze weighing, measuring. _I could sell one of the blankets – the heavy fur one. Eldrid admired it when he was here fixing the door. I can wrap in my shawls for warmth,_ she told herself, refusing to acknowledge how chilled she would be at night. _Mayhap he would pay five gold coins._ Eight gold coins would buy her fabric, but only a day or two of food. Unable to work for a few days, Elina knew she would need to provide herself two meals a day. Gudrid's face swam before her eyes, and Elina wrestled inwardly. How in the realm would she afford to feed both her elder and herself? Her grey eyes fell upon her bed, a shiny cherrywood box hidden beneath. Resting in the velvet lining within lay something that would feed she and Gudrid for a hundred moons….

Turning away from the thought, Elina forced her right hand to work as she struggled to smooth her hair. Little Inkeri would be passing by soon with her geese; for the promise of a pair of gloves like hers, the young one would run another errand for her. Hulda, a fellow seamstress, passed by this way on her journey to the palace; she would bear the message to Mistress Solvi.

Plan at the ready, Elina moved about, gathering up her precious few items to sell. If the guards came to collect her, she intended to at least be dressed.

Loki jumped, feeling himself snatched from a deep sleep. A perfunctory knock echoed at the door; the first knock must have woken him. Shaking his head a trifle to clear it, Loki watched as a short, older man stuck his head inside the door.

"Good morn, your highness."

Rolling to sit on the edge of the bed, Loki dragged his hands through his hair tiredly.

"Good morn, Runolf," he greeted the valet. Runolf had been assigned to him long before his fall; while some teased the shorter man, given to plumpness, Loki had always appreciated the man's unerring ability to sense his need for quiet or chatter, given his mood.

"His majesty, the Allfather, requests your presence. Shall I lay out your clothing for the day?"

Faintly surprised at the order, Loki paused as he stood next to the bed. "That will be fine, Runolf." As he strode into the bathing chamber, he called out blandly, "no plumes, Runolf."

The faithful servant would never admit to smiling as the prince brought up an old and longstanding joke between them. He recalled the day when, the evening of the princes' introduction at court, he had first been assigned to Prince Loki. Runolf had been a younger man then, his hair more red than grey, his girth a bit leaner. But the young prince had tripped right into his heart; there he stood, dressed in all black with great red sashes swallowing his slim frame, and a ridiculous billowing red plume bobbing about his head, affixed to a black velvet hat. Runolf had been speechless as every instinct in him demanded to go and rip the offending decoration from the over-adorned prince. Quite suddenly, the young royal had fixed that direct, green gaze upon him and asked if he cared overly much for the hat. When he had stammered out something that sounded like, "no", a great flash of blue light had snapped through the room, and hat and plume leaped from the inky black head to land in a smoldering, sad heap on the floor. To his credit, and earning the prince's trust, Runolf hadn't even flinched at the display of magic. He had simply kicked the smoking pile into the fireplace and bowed, calmly introducing himself.

Opening up the wardrobe and reaching for garments, Runolf knew that many a servant had been scandalized – no, terrified – that Prince Loki was freed. Many more thought he'd taken leave of his senses when he had asked to resume his post. But Runolf knew they saw only the shell of his master; he believed with all his heart there was good in him.

Hearing the splash of water from the bathroom, Runolf hurried about his task, laying out breeches, tunic, and vest on the bed before retrieving a sturdy brush from the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. Taking up tall, heavy black boots, Runolf began working them over to brighten the shine. He didn't look up from his task as Loki moved to the bed and began to dress.

"Did the great man say where I'm to meet him?"

Studiously keeping his eyes on his work, Runolf cleared his throat briefly. "The throne room, your highness."

Loki's fingers stilled on his buttons; both men knew that the throne room was used exclusively for official matters. Family issues were typically discussed in Odin's private library. Memories from yestereve yawned up to meet him, and Loki couldn't stop the prickle of cold fear that raced over his skin.

 _The poor lad. It must be so hard to trust, but gods, I hope he can find it in his heart._ It took Loki a moment to realize the words running through his mind were not his own, but Runolf's. Turning to stare at the older man, he caught Runolf looking at him with sympathy gleaming in his eyes. In a flash, the servant dropped his gaze, giving a boot one last vigorous rub before placing both on the floor near him.

"There you are, your highness. Will there be anything else?"

Loki stared hard into the kind, familiar eyes; more faded than he recalled, he searched for mockery, suspicion, but found only calm and loyalty.

"No." He paused but a moment. "Thank you."

A few moments more saw Loki striding down the hall towards the throne room. The long, slim black jacket he favored flared out behind him with his brisk pace. Not caring at all for Odin's orders, he still found himself unwilling to risk his newly-won freedom with tardiness or an outright snub. The guards came to attention and opened the towering, ornate gold doors. The vast room stood eerily empty; Loki saw the Allfather on his throne, Frigga seated to his right, but no other. Pausing but a moment, the heavy sound of the doors shutting urged him forward. Loki approached the throne, but did not bow.

"You rang, sir?"

Odin said nothing in reply to the mild insolence. Slightly surprised, Loki let his gaze slide to his mother. The sadness he saw there left him nonplussed. A movement caught his attention as a raven, the light shining blue-black on his wings, fluttered his feathers from his perch atop the throne. Again, cold fear slid down his spine as Loki strained to sense the threat that must be near.

"I understand you had a visitor last night." Odin's voice was cold, clipped. Loki flinched inwardly as memories of many a childhood scolding prodded him, warring with the fear that swirled against his breastbone. Unwilling to give anything away, Loki merely raised his chin.

"Yes."

"And who, or pray, what, was the visitor?"

Keeping his gaze carefully blank, Loki felt his jaw tighten. "I've no idea. Did you send them? Is this display of….irritation I see anger that they were foiled in your mission to have me assassinated, or merely indigestion?" he snapped out coldly.

"Enough!" Odin roared, the raven's call echoing shrilly in the empty space. Loki saw Frigga turn her face away out of the corner of his eye, her dismay lapping at him. "You will not speak to me with such disrespect!"

"Then, pray, Allfather, get on with this affair. As you well know, I'm unable to read minds any longer. And, as I've told you before, I don't love our little chats," Loki bit off scornfully. The sudden _slam_ of the Allfather's staff vibrated against his feet, and Loki watched as Odin stood imperiously.

"Your mother graciously engaged a palace seamstress to mend some draperies you so childishly tore in your chamber." Loki's gaze flew to his mother's at Odin's words. "That seamstress, or 'slave' as you so petulantly labeled her, was rehanging the draperies in your room when you returned unexpectedly." Odin marched forward a few paces, his staff punctuating each stride. "And you, a liberated man with more reason to foster peace than anyone. You, a soul hungering for respect and trust. You, Loki, a prince of the realm of Asgard, abused and wounded this person. Not just a person, but a respected worker in our household, and a woman – half your size, and none of your strength!"

The thundering of the Allfather's voice, the shrill calling of the raven, belied the truth he had been so utterly convinced of but a few hours before. Caught unawares, self-righteous indignation tried to grumble to life.

"She….I…," hearing his own stammering only fueled Loki's resentment. "Everyone in the palace knows they are not to enter private chambers without permission. I had no other expectation than that of a threat!"

"Loki, my son," his mother's quiet voice reached him. "She had my permission. I asked if she could finish the work before nightfall. She agreed, and readily accepted my request to rehang the curtains in your room." The disappointment in Frigga's eyes burned him like acid.

"Because of the injuries this girl has received from your hand, she is now unable to perform her duties. Now, she has reason to fear us, to believe that we would not respect her as a person unto her own self." Odin's gaze glinted at him like onyx, anger radiating from him in waves. True fear suddenly clamped around Loki's windpipe. In that moment, he was sure that Odin was about to send him back to prison. And in that moment, he knew he would fight him to Hel to stay free. "Because this girl, our faithful servant, has received such abuse and ill-treatment from your hand, I hereby decree that _you_ will now serve _her_ for as long as is required for her injuries to heal."

Loki's fear rapidly gave way to shock; that he, a prince of Asgard, would be forced to serve as a menial?

"What?"

"You will fetch her food, you will fetch her water, you will wait upon her hand and foot from sun up until sun down, for as many moons as it takes for her to heal."

Incensed, Loki gave up all pretense and began pacing agitatedly, raking his hands through his hair. He fixed an angry glare on Odin. "Have you not thought this was all done by her deliberately? To punish me? To heap more humiliation upon my head?"

"The only one heaping humiliation on your head is yourself, Loki. My word is final. You will report to her home by noon." Turning on his heel, Odin waved a hand at the raven, who immediately called out a farewell as he lifted into flight. Overcome at the indignity looming before him, Loki straightened and shot a scornful scowl at the Allfather.

"And if I refuse?"

Frigga checked her immediate movement towards him, forcing herself not to rise or gesture. Instead, she raised a litany of pleas in her heart.

 _My son, I beg of you not to refuse. Do not prod him more! Accept this small punishment for what it is!_

Her beseeching words clashed against his own anger, almost dizzying him as Loki struggled to compose himself. Odin turned and fixed a cold gaze upon him.

"Then, you will have chosen a fate not among your family, and elected your own imprisonment."

Loki felt his gut coil and tighten painfully at the emotions coursing through him. Rage burned in his eyes and throat, and he turned away from Odin's harsh gaze, his mother's disappointment, away from the declaration of more moons until more freedom.

It felt as if his life had ended.

The sun had neared its zenith, but already Elina had accomplished a great deal. Eldrid had left her door with an ear-to-ear smile, promising to return with coins for her by the end of the week for the fur blanket. Silver needles had been sold; Trigg the Weaver had been generous, gifting her four gold coins. Inkeri's message had reached him, and he had arrived bearing plentiful yards for the cutting of sturdy, serviceable fabrics in cream, grey, and brown. Dickering price with him in her quiet manner, Elina had won the battle, as well as enough fabric for one new skirt and one new dress. With her remaining coins, she had been able to purchase cheese, bread, and fruit. That it was enough for only a single meal a day for herself, and two hearty meals a day for Gudrid, she studiously ignored.

Seated on her bed with the shutters open for light, Elina had pulled a pillow into her lap and rested her left arm upon it. A bowl of steaming water sat on the side table near her, a glass jar stopped with cork standing at the ready beside it. A stump of candle gleamed with a slender flame, almost hidden in the bright sunshine. Hampered at having only one hand for the task, Elina painfully, painstakingly used one of her silver needles to pick the wool threads out of her burns. Every so often, she would pause to wipe the fluid from the needle, then hold it in the flame to sterilize it. She worked this way in silence, not seeing the beads of cold sweat that dripped down her temple as pain and focus argued within her. Pausing to take a deep breath, Elina let her shoulders sag a bit. She tipped her head, trying to see the encrusted threads she could feel; but there were just enough shadows that the grey wool, covered with dried fluids, were hidden from her. As she pondered what best to do, the sound of heavy footsteps sounded outside her home. Frowning in puzzlement, Elina couldn't place the footsteps among those she knew well. Suddenly, a heavy, furious knock pounded on the door. Before she could so much as flinch, the door burst open.

Prince Loki stood in the entry.

Rage rolled off him in icy waves as his narrowed gaze swept the room, his nostrils flaring as he breathed. Elina sat, frozen, as dread dropped in her stomach like a stone.

 _He's come for me. I'm to be executed._

Loki hadn't realized he'd fairly jogged his way here, so brisk was his step. The pounding of his heart, the heaving of his chest he took no notice of. He saw only his anger as his eyes searched the chamber for his prey. A movement caught his attention, and he turned towards the only source of light in the room. The young girl from last night stood next to a sad excuse for a bed, her eyes huge as she stared at him.

"You!" he hissed out, slamming the door behind him. She jumped at the sound, but didn't speak. "You absolute minger!" She flinched at the insult. "Did you honestly think you could best me?" He moved towards her, his gait stalking.

Elina blinked frantically at the dizziness that assailed her, fighting air into her lungs past her tight throat.

"I – I –"

Loki advanced closer, his hands curling into menacing claws. "Vile lickspittle!" he seethed, stepping even closer. "How much did they pay you? One hundred gold coins? Five hundred?"

Instinctively trying to escape his wrath, Elina stumbled backwards, clumsily wedging herself between the side table and her bed.

"No, your highness –," her choked whisper reached him.

His muscles tightened as if iron, Loki stepped within an arm's length of the girl. "A thousand? As in one thousand moons of exile? _My_ exile?!"

Rage and fear clawed at Loki's insides, and he spun away from the temptation to throttle her. Seeing a clay pitcher on the table, he swung at it, feeling a paltry satisfaction as it flew across the room and hit the wall, shattering into fragments.

"You know not whom you trifle with, wench. I will make you pay for my humiliation," he ground out, trembling at the force of his anger. A sound from her caught his attention; he turned, watching as she knelt before him and bowed her head.

Teeth chattering with fear, Elina tried to speak and couldn't, then tried again.

"F-forgive me, your highness. I am r-ready to bear my p-punishment."

Staring at the girl, Loki stood motionless. The seconds ticked by interminably for Elina. Finally, she could bear it no longer.

"If it pleases my lord, I beg of you to kill me quickly."

Shock held him frozen as Loki continued to gawk at her. His rage given pause, he took in the way she trembled; indeed, even the wisping strands of hair about her face tremored with her shaking. Suddenly, a flapping of wings came to his ear. Odin's raven perched on the windowsill and fixed a black, all-seeing eye upon him.

 _Then, you will have chosen a fate not among your family, and elected your own imprisonment._

Loki took a deep breath, then another, struggling to gain composure. Much as he would have enjoyed seeking vengeance on this girl, he knew it would cost him dearly. He took a step back from her.

The heavy silence echoed on so long, Elina thought she might scream. His next words held her frozen.

"Rise, wench." Disbelieving, Elina opened her eyes, staring at his boots. "I said, rise!" he snarled. Cradling her left arm gingerly, Elina struggled to her feet, braving a glance up at the Dark Prince. Though outrage still emanated from him in cold waves, his gaze bore equal parts of fury…and speculation. Spots suddenly danced in front of her eyes; Elina tried to force her tight muscles to relax, air into her lungs as she dipped her head to hide her gaze.

Loki crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the table as he regarded the girl with hooded eyes. Quite small for an Asgardian woman, her head reached nearly to his shoulder but no higher. Waif thin, her collarbones stood out prominently. Not tanned nor rosy skin, but white as finest porcelain. Her hair, though….the odd-colored tresses truly marked her difference from the other Æsir. While most of their race bore locks of golden or strawberry blonde, hers was startlingly different. Black as ebony, an oval-shaped patch of pure white strands began at the crown, grown full length and bearing the faintest sparkle when she shifted in the sunlight. Her braid looked a trifle mussed, as if she'd slept in it and not combed it out. Studying her further, he saw that her fawn-colored laced bodice hung on her frame oddly. Further examination saw the frayed, ragged edges peeking from beneath it. A grey and blue woven cloth – a shawl, perhaps – was draped haphazardly down her front and tied about her waist, covering a plain white fabric. Her shift, he realized.

Memory prodded at him; the sagging rags he'd seen in the firelight, the sound of ripping seams. Unbidden, a flicker of guilt nudged at his gut. Loki forced it away, continuing his perusal of the girl. His gaze fell on the arms she kept cupped to her chest. The long sleeves slid away to her elbows, revealing slender forearms. One was liberally stained with purple bruises….the exact width of his fingers. The other still wore a glove, obviously soiled. He then noticed the steaming bowl, the candle and stoppered jar, the silver needle that winked where it had landed on the bed. And a few ragged threads on the windowsill, bearing crusted remnants of bloody fluid.

 _Injured. She truly is injured._ Again, guilt prodded at him, quivering and strange in its unfamiliarity. Loki gestured at her a bit awkwardly.

"You may…carry on." He tried for a nonchalant tone, wincing inwardly at the uncertainty he heard.

Elina blinked, convinced she had heard him wrong. Unsure of what he wanted of her, she moved to kneel before him again.

"No! I'm not going to kill you, peasant! You may continue with your task." His tone and stiff gait as he turned to stalk about the room shouted of agitation. Still trembling like a leaf in a gale, Elina awkwardly seated herself back on the bed. She clenched her right hand into a fist, trying to still her shaking before she grasped the needle. Holding it in the flame for a moment, she chanced a glance at the prince. He had retreated to the darkest corner of her room; cloaked in shadows, his vivid green gaze arrowed towards her, narrow and measuring as he watched her. Elina felt the trembling renew in her middle, and willed herself to be calm.

Silent, scrutinizing, Loki watched as the girl shifted awkwardly in the patch of sunlight from the window, her needle at the ready. She rolled her lips inward, biting down on them as she put the needle to her arm. Had he not been watching, he would have missed the tiny flinch as the sharp point pricked her skin. She gave no complaint, but kept trying to move her arm. He realized that she couldn't see clearly in the patches of shadow, and was more than likely digging into her flesh blindly as she tried to pick out the woolen threads.

Her focus now completely on her task and her pain, Elina looked up in surprise when she felt the mattress shift beneath her. Instinctively, she flinched away as Prince Loki sat across from her, recoiling even more when he extended his arms towards her. She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating a harsh blow…..

But felt only his fingers, firm but not hurting, sliding beneath her arm. Wordlessly, he lifted it up fully into the light. She couldn't stop the hissing intake of breath as pain shot through her when the movement pulled at the burn. Her eyes fluttered open, watching the prince in bewilderment as he carefully shifted her arm with minimal movements, examining the wound in the bright light.

"Think you to dig them all out with that ridiculous tool?"

Her brain whirled, overwhelmed at the chaotic emotions running through her.

"I – I can think of no other way."

Loki didn't respond, but continued to study the burn for another moment. He could feel the girl's eyes on him as he reached for the bowl. Testing the water, he found it to be warm enough for the purpose. Grasping the cloth beside her, Loki dunked it in the water, ringing it out carefully. The aroma of melaleuca drifted up to him – a healing herb, he knew. Folding the wet rag into a square, Loki paused.

"Brace yourself."

Before she could guess what he was about, Elina sucked in a harsh breath when he pressed the cloth to the burn. Agony shot down to her fingers, up her arm, and hammered into her brain. A tiny, broken cry tore from her as the heat and moisture ravaged the wound. She could feel sweat blooming on her skin as she struggled to hold still.

Loki held the wet cloth firmly to the burn, expecting to feel satisfaction at watching her pain. Vaguely, he registered he felt none at all, but instead a curious gnawing at his gut as he saw tears leak from the corners of her eyes, squeezing themselves out and rolling unheeded down her cheeks. What little color her cheeks bore rapidly drained away, and he could feel her trembling violently in his grasp.

Just when Elina thought she could not hold back her scream, he lifted the cloth. The pain faded only slightly; she dragged her eyes open and saw that the burn now oozed with fresh fluids, the blisters now slicked with moisture….and the threads already sliding easily in the wound. She could only watch dimly as the prince produced a knife, too exhausted to drum up any fear. He cast a penetrating glance at her before he carefully cut the tattered remnants of the glove, each movement precise and calculated. In a few strokes, all that remained were the scraps surrounding the burn. In another smooth movement, the prince turned the wet cloth over and pressed it firmly to the burn. Again, agony seared through her, and a harsh sob tore from her as Elina felt the cloth move firmly across the raw, open wound.

Working swiftly, Loki wiped across the burn again, effectively removing the embedded threads. Then, he opened the glass bottle on the table, sniffing the contents. Melaleuca, calendula, comfrey. Pouring some into his hand, he added a bit of water, stirring the mixture briskly with a finger to create a paste. Glancing up at the girl, Loki saw that she had dragged her feet up to bury her face against her raised knees. Taking a breath, Loki paused and reminded himself to move gently.

 _Gently? When was the last time…?_ But he didn't ponder the issue. Using as delicate of a touch as he could muster, Loki carefully spread the salve over the burn, careful to cover every inch of it. Satisfied, Loki wiped his hands on the rag, and moved it and the bowl of water back to the side table. The girl hadn't moved in several moments.

"How came you by the burn? Did you try to immolate yourself?" Loki clipped out scornfully.

Using her right hand, Elina wiped haphazardly at her tears, desperation to not show further weakness battling and losing against her exhaustion.

"You…I….the candle, y-your highness," she stammered out.

 _The candle…._ The memory of his own hand shoving her off the stool, the hardened spilled wax on his floor this morning gave him pause. _I did this…._ The truth shoved in his face this morn by the Allfather could be denied; but this, his own recollection was veracity he could not ignore. Again, unbidden and unfamiliar emotion skirled low in his belly, driving him to his feet and pacing about the chamber. Elina pushed herself awkwardly to lean against the wall that formed the corner for her bed, dragging her eyes open to watch the dark prince.

 _Prince! A prince of Asgard is in my chamber!_ The thought fired up the indoctrination of years of servitude, and she floundered to the edge of her bed.

"Your highness, my apologies," she gasped. Pain lanced up her arm as she suddenly struggled, her legs tangled in shift, shawl, and blankets. "I...I must needs serve you but my t-table is paltry-." Elina's feet finally reached the floor, duty promising more strength to her legs than her muscles could deliver. Wavering, she all but fell against the side table, the bowl tipping over and sending water in all directions. In the next moment, she felt a brief sense of warmth; hands - strong, warm – were suddenly there, supporting her when she would have collapsed.

"Indeed, peasant. We can discuss your table and subservience later. Your weak body requires rest." Again, Loki felt that odd swirling in his belly when she raised confused grey eyes to his. Hiding behind arrogance, he raised an eyebrow and intoned, "Of what use can you be to the royal household dead?"

Too tired to ponder anything any longer, Elina never noticed the continued support the prince lent her as she painfully crawled back onto her bed. Cold seemed to pervade her very bones as she wearily slumped into the corner where the two walls met. The last thing she saw as sleep rose up to claim her was piercing green eyes shining out from the darkness.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

For the second time that day, Elina awoke in a daze. A late afternoon breeze, bearing tidings of evening, teased her face. The shadows were heavily slanted and deepening, but sunset was still some minutes away. A dull throbbing made itself known in her left arm, and she groggily looked down. The wounded arm was resting at her side on a stacked pile of pillows. The height was such to brace the limb without pulling the burned flesh. She frowned slightly, trying to remember what had happened….

Memory was quick to return, and her head swiveled as her gaze swept the room.

"Finally awake? I'd no idea peasants could be such laggards." The deep voice rumbled from a dark corner near the door. As Elina watched, the shadows shifted, folding and unfolding into the dark prince as he strode across the floor. He stood at her bedside without speaking, an inscrutable expression on his face. Elina opened her mouth to speak, but all that escaped her parched throat was a hoarse croak. One black eyebrow lifted at the sound, and he poured a cup of water from the pitcher that now rested on the side table. She awkwardly reached across her body to take the cup. When her hand trembled from hunger and weakness, Elina almost snatched it back in embarrassment; but the prince's next gesture stayed her motion.

Loki eyed the girl passively as he extended the cup of water. If possible, she looked even paler than before. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and her hand visibly trembled as she strained to reach out for the water. Loki instinctively held the cup to her lips, as surprised at the movement as she clearly was. Neither spoke as she sipped thirstily, again and again, until the cup was drained. He watched as her eyes immediately looked towards the pitcher; again, that foreign helping instinct swirled in his breast, fighting with his own frustration and fatigue.

"More?" he drawled out blandly. Hesitating at his tone, Elina looked up at his hooded eyes, then quickly ducked her chin.

"Thank you, your highness, no."

Voices threaded their way in the window, drawing her gaze. She shrunk further into the corner, fully hidden in shadow but still able to see out. Neighbors and other nearby residents were making their ways home; other windows and opened doors bore the warmth of home fires burning and happy greetings. The aroma of náttmál dishes, warm and savory, stole into the air. Elina couldn't stop her wince as her stomach cramped, protesting noisily of the long hours since she'd last eaten. A quick, embarrassed glance at the prince showed that he had also stepped away from view, standing on the other side of the table. _Mayhap he didn't hear it…._

 _They surely heard her stomach growl in Valhalla_ , Loki thought disdainfully before memories brought him up short. While the girl slept, he had prowled around the small dwelling like a thief; it was clear this girl was nearly a beggar, so poor was she. Her table was, indeed, paltry, for he had found only a miserly loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese smaller than his hand, and four apples. Thor could have swallowed them whole as an hors d'oeuvre and never flinched. In a fit of spiteful churlishness, he had eaten the half the bread, all the cheese, and two of the apples. Now, though, as Loki beheld the pinched face and trembling of the girl before him, the foreign sharpness of shame prodded coldly in his belly. He knew very clearly he had eaten nearly all she had, nor did she have any coins to buy more. He, who even while imprisoned had seen sufficient nourishment, and now had all the bounty Asgard's halls had to offer, had taken the food from this girl's very mouth.

A sudden fluttering sound caught the attention of both, and Loki's shame dug more sharply as Odin's raven fixed a glittering eye from where it perched in the window. The bird had been a constant visitor to the chamber as Odin kept a careful vigil on his servitude. But the shadows deepened even more as sunset arrived in full – his sentence was done for the day. A wave of fatigue abruptly washed over him, and Loki felt as if he could lay down on the floor and go to sleep in that moment. A squawk from the raven prompted him, and he drew in a deep breath before moving. Weariness and guilt made his actions jerky as he snatched up the apples and bread, dumping them on the bed near her.

"Here are your scraps, slave. I'll return on the morrow to see if you're dead," he grumbled, then turned and stalked out the door. The street was mostly vacant, the shadows of twilight rapidly deepening, but Loki pulled a hood up over his head anyway, desperate to get behind the closed door of his chamber. Desperate to get away from Odin's spy. To get away from the girl with the solemn silver eyes who had nothing, and the feelings stirring within him. His swift strides ate up the distance; a memory came to him, and Loki abruptly turned from the thoroughfare that would have taken him to the palace's main gates. A few more corners took him to a little-used lane that curved close to the high walls that guarded the fortress. Stopping to check his surroundings carefully, Loki shouldered through some thick shrubbery at the base of a tree that craftily hid a bolthole into the palace. It was one of several he had devised before his fall; he had thought them all discovered and sealed, but was relieved beyond measure that he could now get to his room quickly without being seen. The passageway was dark, but Loki moved confidently as his boots found a narrow spiral staircase. Moments more found him straining against the panel hidden in the floor of his room. Stiff with neglect, the tightness of the door protested with squeaking groans before opening. Loki dragged himself up into his room, leaning against the wall beneath the window as he paused to catch his breath. He paused to listen to the silence in his room; satisfied that he was alone, Loki closed the panel and ducked beneath the drapes.

A fire burned in the hearth, warming the room against the cool of evening. A tray sat on the table beside his favorite reading chair. A glance beneath the dome revealed a goblet of ale and a plate heaped with good things. Even as his stomach growled in complaint, Loki slammed the lid down and turned away, striding into the bathing chamber. Golden lamplight filled the space as he poured water into the basin. He paused to strip off his vest and tunic, rubbing his hands over his face as the weight of the day pressed upon him. A wisp of fragrance – melaleuca, calendula, comfrey – hinted to him. Loki frowned down at his hands, trying to place the scent out of his usual soap and cologne. An image of a tiny, trembling maid, hiding her pain from his ministrations popped into his brain.

Growling in frustration, Loki cupped water in his hands and scrubbed his face vigorously.

"Get out of my head, wench!" he bit off savagely before moving back into the main chamber, flopping back on the bed. Tired though he was, it would be a long while before sleep finally claimed the prince.

Her eyes closed, Elina barely contained a groan of contentment as Rania continued her soothing movements, the teeth of the comb scraping pleasantly against her scalp.

"I still don't understand, little girl, why you didn't send word to me!" the older girl growsed.

"'Tis just a burn, Rania."

"Not to you, Elina, I know this pains you more. Don't try to dither with me."

Drawing a quiet breath, Elina smoothly changed topics. "Was Gudrid well when you saw her?"

Rania placed the comb on the table and began dividing Elina's hair into sections. "Weary but with a twinkle in her eye. She asked after you, and was raring to come over when I explained you were ill." She chuckled lightly as her fingers began to plait her hair. Elina smiled at the sound and at the news.

"Mayhap she'll surprise us all and live for another hundred years." Rania hesitated for just a shade too long as she continued her weaving.

"Mayhap." Neither girl spoke for a few moments. "Elina…"

"I know, Rania," Elina spoke quietly.

"She….she weakens more every day."

"I know this, too. It's just…" her voice dwindled off. Rania waited a moment, then gently urged her on.

"Just, what, little girl?"

Elina ducked her head instinctively, then jerked back to look straight ahead at Rania's huff and gentle tug on her hair. "I don't want her to live forever, ill and in pain."

Again, the young woman drifted into silence. Rania tied off the braid she was working on, then moved to kneel before her friend, looking up into her face. A sympathetic smile touched the corner of her mouth.

"You don't want to be alone."

"I'm not alone!" But the color creeping into her face, the guilt trying to steal into her eyes betrayed her.

"Of course you're not!" agreed Rania as she got back to her feet, returning to begin another braid. "You have Aren and me, and all your friends. You know how loved you are among us. All you would have to do is ask!"

Elina sighed, too tired to enter into a debate. "You're right, my friend."

"And who knows? I'm sure there's some lad with your soul mark whose heart you've won with your kindness. He's simply waiting for you to slow down a moment so he can ask for your mittened hand in marriage!"

Elina smiled as she was meant to at Rania's cheerful voice. "Gloves, Rania, they're gloves!" _And I know there will be no lad._

"Bah. No matter." In a few moments more, she had rapidly woven together all the braids securely, tying it off with a leather strand that wouldn't un-do as easily. "There. It's not too tight, is it?"

"No, it's perfect, thank you. I couldn't have done it without you." She got to her feet wearily, smiling when Rania bent over her left arm, inspecting and muttering over the bandaging she'd wrapped loosely around the burn. "Well, now, little girl. I'd best be off. Will you be alright until the morrow? I worry about you being alone until you're healed and both handed again."

"Of course." Elina carefully refrained from mentioning her visitor today, and the pending visit tomorrow. Clasping Rania's with her right one, she looked up at her friend. "Truly now. Are you sure you're up to looking after Gudrid? And the other task I asked?"

In response, Rania chuckled brightly as she enveloped the shorter woman in a hug. "Little girl, 'tis no trouble at all! I wouldn't have offered if I couldn't!"

"I know, Rania, but you've your own house and husband to care for, and you've just learned of the babe. Please don't overtax yourself."

Rania only smiled as she unfolded her shawl about her shoulders, collecting a package from the table as well. "I've no worries on that score. Aren pampers me as if I were bearing the heir to the throne!" Blowing a kiss to her friend, Rania was gone. Wordlessly, Elina made sure her shutters were secured, then carefully turned back her covers before blowing out her candle and crawling into bed. She kept her left arm stretched above the covers, knowing it would chill her but the wound unable to take additional pressure. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Elina trained her gaze on the faint starlight that peeked in through the shutter slats. She lay quietly and replayed the day's events in her head. A shiver she couldn't help coursed through her as she remembered the Dark Prince's fury. But he hadn't killed her, hadn't punished her. While she had always known simple respect at the palace, kindness even, she was naught but a servant subject to royal whim. It simply made no matter that she knew the truth of how she came to be in Prince Loki's room. He could have killed her, and no one would speak against him. Another tremor shook her. _God of Mischief, God of War…._

And yet….he hadn't killed her, hadn't even raised a hand to her, although his rage had been tangible. Why? Furthermore, why had he helped her? The questions rolled around in her brain, but Elina had no answers. Weariness lapped at her, heavy and drugging, as she slipped off to sleep.


End file.
